Gemotions

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to mock Clara. She found herself picking at the loose threads on her worn-out jeans, a nervous habit she hadn't indulged in years. The air in the room felt thick, oppressive. She’d come back from her shift at the coffee shop to find her room neat. Too neat. Almost sterile. Her usually messy desk was pristine, and her journal, the one she meticulously hid under her mattress, was lying innocently on top. A cold wave washed over her; there was no way it could be an accident.